The Lie
by Sigma Creations
Summary: My first attempt at writing something in the first person, so please be gentle with me. Set sometime during season 9 and told from Harry's POV. Reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.
1. Chapter 1

**_Many thanks to r4ven3 for being my beta for this chapter. Hope you enjoy. Cheers, S.C. _**

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**[5 May 2010]**

It's been years since I last wrote in my diary, but tonight I cannot sleep and I thought this might help; it always has in the past. But who am I kidding? Nothing will help with this. I am in hell and all I can do is pray to a God I've never believed in or beg fate to finally grant us a reprieve. I cannot bear to lose her again. A few hours ago Ruth was hit by a car and she is now fighting for her life.

I was at the hospital for what seemed like hours waiting for her to come out of emergency surgery until they told me I had to go home, promising to call when they have any news. I'm not her next of kin, though I can't help thinking that I could have been if only she'd said yes, but I am her boss and, in the Security Services, that counts for something. At least I can be grateful for that, small consolation though it is.

I didn't go home. I went back to the Grid and breathed down Tariq's neck for the next hour or so, feeling terrified and utterly frustrated and useless. I have to admit that young Tariq handled it quite well and was able to work his magic in spite of my presence which, under the circumstances, was no mean feat. He'll make a fine officer yet if only he'd cut his damned hair.

He was already trawling through CCTV for the bastard who did this when I got there, something I'd instructed him to do the moment I'd heard about Ruth. It was a hit and run, and though it might just have been bad luck that had Ruth in his path, I can't help thinking that perhaps she was targeted, perhaps it's my fault again. It is the most cruel twist of fate that a feeling so worthy as love can cause so much suffering and pain in another. If I could stop loving her, I would in a heartbeat to save her, save us both, from all this pain. But I cannot; I've tried. I will love her until the day I die. "Resistance is futile" as Tariq is so fond of saying.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thanks for all your encouraging reviews and to r4ven3 and NatesDate for being my betas for this chapter. As always, reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C._  
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**[6 May 2010]**

She's pulled through. Ruth is going to be okay. If I tell myself that often enough perhaps, in the end, it will come true. I was at the hospital first thing this morning after getting barely an hour's sleep last night. The surgeon told me that the operation had taken over five hours because Ruth had suffered from a severe internal haemorrhage and a collapsed left lung as well as some broken bones, and it had taken them a long time to stop the bleeding.

They let me see her briefly. She looked so small and fragile, lying in bed with a tube down her throat and an IV in her arm, machines all around her monitoring her vitals, her blue, intelligent eyes closed, her constantly moving hands still, the only sign of life being her chest rising and falling gently with every breath. She has some bruising on the left side of her face and a nasty scrape across her forehead and all I wanted to do is take her in my arms, cradle her against my chest and never let her go. It's all I've ever wanted to do. Perhaps I should have done that, perhaps I should have been bold and forward, perhaps I should have seduced her like I have so many others, perhaps it was a mistake to give her the space and time I thought she needed. But she was always different and special, and I'd hoped that by holding back, we could have built something that would last. And in a way, I was right; it's lasted years.

Both the radius and the ulna in her left arm are fractured as is her right femur where the car hit her. The doctors are keeping her in a medically induced coma to give her body a chance to heal, and they made it very clear that she's not out of danger yet. Even if physically she makes a full recovery, an event, they tell me, that is looking more promising with each hour that passes, it's still possible that her brain suffered some damage from the head injury or the fact that her heart stopped twice on the operating table. So we must wait until she wakes up to know the full impact of the accident.

I don't know what to think or feel right now. I cannot feel relief and I cannot feel love, not without equal measures of heartbreak and fear. All that is left then is anger, anger towards the imbecile who did this, anger towards the job that demands so much of us and had Ruth going home late in the first place, anger towards myself for not protecting her, anger towards Ruth for not letting me and for always pushing me away, anger towards fate for never giving us a chance, and anger towards the world and everyone in it for demanding so much and giving so little. So I concentrate on the only thing I can do that will make a difference. I will find the bastard who did this if it's the last thing I do.


	3. Chapter 3

**[8 May 2010]**

Tariq found him and he's already in police custody. He's eighteen, a knob-head who stole a car with his mates and took it for a joy ride. Dimitri and Lucas brought him in late last night and they treated him to a night of MI-5 hospitality - one, I hope, he's not likely to forget any time soon. They made sure it was decidedly unpleasant and the git was suitably terrified though he tried hard not to show it.

This morning, when Lucas told me we had him, I went straight down to the interrogation rooms to have a go at him myself. When Beth saw me in the observation room, she immediately objected to my presence, saying that I shouldn't be near the boy, that I was emotionally compromised and too involved personally. Needless to say, I was not impressed, but I've got to hand it to her - she has balls. Dimitri just looked stoic, giving me one of those looks of his that show wisdom beyond his years. He'll make a fine officer and will go far in the service, that one. He turned to Beth and said something about Lucas being there in order to placate her before shepherding her out of the room, leaving me alone with Lucas and the berk in the next room.

"He's just a kid, Harry," Lucas said then. "We double checked. Ruth was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I know," I replied. He nodded and held the door open for me, following me into the room. He knew what I was going to do, knew what I had to do, and he understood. He also knew his role. He was there to stop me from going too far, and when the time came, he did just that.

As to the youth, Fredrick William Taylor, I hope he learned something from this experience. Afterwards, before he was released to Metro P.D., I went back down there alone, I'm not sure why - call it instinct. He was crying, hunched up in the corner of the room, no doubt feeling scared and alone, and it made me think of Graham, my son, whom I never see these days. It brought back memories of that time when he'd been bullied at school by the Irish kids because he'd, very stupidly, told them what I do for a living, and how I'd failed to support and protect him. No doubt, this boy's father also failed to support and protect him, and it is quite possibly sheer luck that it wasn't my son sitting in that holding cell today. It was a sobering thought and I felt suitably ashamed for what I'd done to both of them.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Many thanks to all of you for reading and especially to those who have reviewed. I hope the following chapters don't seem too emotionally forthright for Harry, but I imagine that the strain of having Ruth in a coma for almost a week and the frustration and helplessness he must be feeling would make him a little less reticent, and I hope you will agree that sharing some of his thoughts and feelings in his journal is not entirely OOC. As ever, your feedback and reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.**_

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**[12 May 2010]**

Ruth's still in a coma and, though the doctors tell me that she's doing well and they'll begin to bring her out of it in the next few days, it's still agony to have to wait, not knowing if, when she wakes up, she'll be the same person I said goodnight to less than a week ago, or if some part of her wonderful personality and brilliant mind will be altered, damaged in some way, possibly beyond repair. And then there's the possibility that she might _never_ wake up, something I don't even wish to contemplate though, invariably, I end up doing just that every night as my mood turns sombre and maudlin. Not tonight though. Not tonight. She's a fighter and I choose to believe that she'll pull through this too, the ultimate test of her resilience, her stubbornness and strength. She has to. I tell her so every day.

In the mean time, there's nothing like not knowing the fate of a loved one to make you want to pull the rest of them close, so I arranged to have lunch with Catherine yesterday. It went rather well, much better than the conversation I've just had with her brother over the phone tonight. I hadn't expected forgiveness or even civility from Graham when I rung, but I _had_ hoped that there would be something - a spark, a connection - on which I might try to build a bridge between us with time. I had hoped for some maturity and perspective, though it's hardly surprising that it's lacking; I'm afraid Graham has always been too much like me in that respect. After all, he's very nearly the same age I was when I made some of my largest mistakes, starting with Juliet, the beginning of a very slippery slope that lead to much pain for all involved and perhaps most of all for him. His life so far certainly seems to have consisted of one disaster after another, and though he loves to indiscriminately blame me for every single thing that has gone wrong in it, I have to accept that I _am_ undoubtedly responsible for some of his troubles; something I will always profoundly regret. At least he appears to be sober and clean at the moment, according to his sister, which is some progress since last I heard news of him. Anyway, I promised Catherine that I wouldn't give up on him this time and I don't intend to. _This_ is where the rubber meets the road and I _will_ keep endeavouring to reach him until I wear him down and we reach some kind of an understanding. He may be a stubborn ass, but I am doubly so.

As to my lunch with Catherine, it was wonderful to see her and she looks good. She's working in England at the moment and, more specifically, in London right now, editing her latest film on the plight of refugees in this country, and though I'm grateful that she's not busy infiltrating some God forsaken country or war zone, I often wish that she wasn't quite so driven to bring the plight of these people to light through her, I must admit with not a little pride, rather brilliant documentaries.

"But then she wouldn't be your daughter, Harry, if she didn't care," I hear Ruth say as I recall the look on her face when she said those words to me one night on the grid when I'd been grumbling about Catherine's chosen profession. Oh Ruth, what I wouldn't give to have you back, alive, well and smiling like that again.


	5. Chapter 5

**[14 May 2010]**

They began reducing Ruth's sedatives yesterday. The doctors say that her body's healing well, and they hope she'll regain complete consciousness by tomorrow. When I saw her tonight, she was sleeping. I must say, it's wonderful to see a little more colour in her cheeks. Perhaps tomorrow she'll open her eyes. I've missed her beautiful, blue eyes.

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**[15 May 2010]**

Ruth's awake but she doesn't remember anything; she doesn't even know her name. It's a terrible blow and must be a frightening experience for her. The doctor said that it happens sometimes. Retrograde amnesia, he called it. Hopefully her memory will come back with time, but no one can be sure if and when this might happen. He recommended that she see a specialist when she's been discharged from hospital.

After I'd spoken to him, I went to see her but, in the end, I didn't enter her room. Though the small window in the door, I saw that her mother was there, sitting by her bedside talking to her, and I didn't want to intrude. Besides, I have to work out what I'm going to say to her first. What do I tell her about her job and how much of our history do I share with her? She won't know who I am, what we mean to each other. And if she doesn't remember me, I can't help thinking that perhaps it's for the best. Perhaps it's time for her to move on and for me to let her go. Perhaps this is my chance to protect her, save her from further heartache and pain by removing her from any association with me and the murky world of espionage. Perhaps I should set her free. There is a lot to think about.

It _was_ good to see her sitting up and talking though, to see her beautiful, blue eyes sparkle as her mother spoke. If I go through with this, how am I ever going to manage without her? My day hasn't properly begun until I see her eyes in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**[21 May 2010]**

It's been six days since Ruth awoke and I've managed to stay away from her, the latest terror threat doing much to keep my mind occupied. I check in with her doctors every morning on my way to work and I always stop by on my way home to check on her. Her mother is sometimes still there, but more often than not, Ruth's sleeping and I can watch her through the window to my heart's content. My behaviour must be quite perplexing to those who see me standing there, but my explanation that I don't wish to disturb Ruth's rest seems to have won me a warm smile of approval from the nurse who's usually on night duty when I visit. She always greets me with it and a kind word as she slips past me into Ruth's room while on her rounds. She must assume that I visit her at other times too when she's awake.

Three days ago, Ruth had surgery to set her broken bones and, thankfully, everything went well. She's being discharged the day after tomorrow, so tomorrow is the final day I'll be seeing her. I've decided to do what's right and stay away even though my heart's torn to shreds at the mere thought of it. We've done it before though and, for her sake, I can do it again. If her memory never returns, she will be happy and safe away from MI-5, and if it does come back one day, then I hope she will understand why I'm doing this and will be able to forgive me. After all, she has never wanted an intimate relationship with me, at least, not in the way I have imagined it, involving more than just the close professional relationship and friendship we've shared up to now.

The team have agreed to give Ruth some space to deal with her amnesia, so they've refrained from hospital visits, letting me bring them updates on her condition and sending her some flowers, chocolates and whatever else Beth's organised for her instead. Tomorrow her temporary replacement arrives from GCHQ, and though we desperately need an experienced analyst on the team, what with Ruth and Malcolm both absent now, I'm dreading seeing someone else attempt to fill her shoes. I'm not sure I can face the finality of tomorrow. I need a drink.


	7. Chapter 7

**[22 May 2010]**

I tried. I really tried, but she saw me through the window today, and smiling that brilliant smile of hers, she beckoned me in, and to my eternal shame, I was powerless to resist.

"Hello, Mr. Pearce," she said as I closed the door and turned to face her.

"Harry," I corrected her, the formality of the greeting throwing me off sufficiently for me to temporarily fail to notice that she knows my name. "How do you know who I am?" I asked in surprise.

"I asked Janet, my nurse, this morning who my shy visitor is," she smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've seen you watching me." I nodded at a loss as to what to say to that, and all the while all I could think of was that time on the Grid years ago when I'd told her she was a born spook. I've never spoken a truer word; I thought I'd managed to remain unseen. "So how do I know you?" she asked next.

"Janet didn't tell you?" I asked.

"She didn't know. She only knew your name because she overheard Dr. Draper address you one day," she smiled. "Apparently you were rather cagey when she tried to find out more."

I couldn't help smiling at the uncertain frown she gave me. "How do you think you know me?" I asked and I could see her eyes light up at the challenge.

"Well," she replied, "you're too young to be my father and besides I already know he died. You could be an uncle or cousin, but you're not family; I asked my mother. You're concerned for me, which means we must know each other well. Maybe friends or perhaps colleagues... or both. I reckon we work together as people our age usually make friends in the workplace. You're quite a bit older than me, so you're senior at work, perhaps my boss? How am I doing?"

"Brilliantly as always, Ruth," I replied, amazed yet again by the brilliance of her analytical mind. "I am indeed your boss, though I don't often think of myself as such. I try to run my team informally and only pull rank when necessary," I hastened to add, trying to explain away my thoughtless remark. Of course, I don't think of myself as her boss; most of my thoughts about Ruth are entirely unprofessional and I am utterly in love with her.

"And that's why we call you Harry," she smiled, thankfully finding nothing odd in my explanation. "Please, take a seat, Harry." She indicated the seat beside her bed where I'd seen her mother sit every day and I took it, letting my eyes roam over her beloved face as I asked her how she was feeling and she played down the pain and discomfort she must be in, in true Ruth-like fashion. I must have smiled because she asked me why I was smiling and I found myself telling her how relieved I am that she's alive and that, despite her memory loss, she's the same person she's always been.

"The same person I've always been... What do you mean by that? How would you describe me, Harry?" she asked, her blue eyes gazing at me earnestly.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I thought she was perfect, but I held back with practised ease and instead listed a few of the most obvious adjectives anyone might use to describe Ruth. Brilliant, inquisitive, analytical, determined – and very stubborn I thought privately but didn't say so – caring and thoughtful. I stopped there, but I suddenly realised what's different about her now. Without the memory of all the trauma she's lived through from losing her father to the loss of colleagues and friends, and most recently, her common law husband and step-son, she's happier and more open and trusting than I have ever seen her, than she's probably ever been in her adult life. And it was such a joy to see it, to see the damage that the job and I have inflicted on her gone just like that, that it made me even more determined to cut all ties with her. This I decided would be the last time I ever saw her.

And as if to prove just how brilliant she really is, no sooner had I made up my mind, when she asked, "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Nothing," I smiled, attempting to make light of possibly the worst moment of my life. "I should get going. Is your mother going to be staying with you when they discharge you tomorrow?" I hastily changed the subject.

"Yes, she is," she replied.

I nodded and began to rise, standing and murmuring that it was late and I had to go home, when she reached out her right hand towards me, grasping my wrist lightly and saying, "Wait! Before you go, I need you to tell me something, Harry. What kind of work do I do? I asked Mum, but she said she didn't know exactly and that no doubt my employers will contact me soon. She looked so uncomfortable and you haven't said anything about work that I'm beginning to worry now that I'm involved in something sinister. Please tell me."

I had wanted to avoid this conversation so much and I did consider brushing her off, but she looked so vulnerable and worried that I didn't feel it would help her to entirely ignore the issue. It took me several moments to come up with the right words to tell her enough but not too much, and all that time, the warmth from her palm resting against the back of my hand was making it so hard to concentrate on what had to be said. In all the years we've know each other, we've only ever touched fleetingly, our skin had never been in contact this long, at least not while both of us have been conscious, and it felt so wonderful, so right, that I never wanted it to end.

When I'd finished speaking, she was silent for a few moments before slowly slipping her hand round my wrist until our palms were pressed together. The feeling of bliss that settled over my heart as she linked our fingers is like nothing I've ever experienced before, and I could feel the tears spring to my eyes even as I tried to control my emotions. "My heart's racing," she stated softly as she watched me, "and so is yours. Why is that?"

I hadn't been prepared for her to be so bold and forthright. Ruth's always avoided talking about anything personal, especially matters of the heart. Her conversation has nearly always been about work, at least with me. Of course at work, she always gets straight to the point, so it's obviously an important part of who she is, direct and curious. I realised then that this amnesia she's suffering from might be the best opportunity I'm ever going to have to get to know Ruth. The slate has been wiped clean and I'm getting a unique insight into what Ruth is really like when she's not busy being afraid, shy or insecure. And so within minutes of strengthening my resolve to never see Ruth again, I began to doubt that I'd made the right decision and my resolve began to weaken.

As I began to doubt myself and before I could formulate a response to her question, she lifted her other hand, the one that's wrapped in a cast, and with her fingertips, she began to stroke the back of my hand, tracing my knuckles and fingers softly as she dropped her gaze to watch what she was doing. I can honestly say that it was the most erotic touch I have ever known, and within seconds, I found it impossible to control my body's reaction to it. I pulled my hand away and she immediately began to apologise, looking stricken that she might have done something to upset me.

"Ruth, please," I interrupted. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I just need to be getting home."

"Of course," she replied, "how thoughtless of me. Your family must be waiting for you."

"There's no one waiting for me, Ruth," I found myself murmuring softly, wishing to reassure her that there's no reason for her to be feeling guilty, but the way her eyes lit up when she heard that I'm single had my heart racing once more. Is it really possible that our love for one another is so deep that it can survive not only several years and a few thousand miles separation, but a complete loss of memory and identity? And if that is the case, than perhaps the problem has always been, not that I love Ruth, but that she's never allowed me to get close enough to protect her, to keep her safe.

And that's when I had the brilliant and yet terrible idea, an idea that might make all my dreams come true, but which might also destroy them once and for all. And as she smiled and looked up at me and I gazed into those beloved, intelligent eyes of hers, I couldn't hold back from telling the lie that would give me all I've ever wanted. I lent down and kissed her cheek softly before murmuring in her ear, "My heart's racing because it always does that when you're near. I've been in love with you almost from the first moment I met you, more than five years ago, Ruth, and about four months ago I asked you to marry me."

"We're engaged?" she asked a little breathlessly as soon as I pulled back to look at her. I nodded, unable to speak the lie to her face, knowing that what I'm doing is wrong on so many different levels. And then she smiled, a warm, genuine, brilliant smile that lit up her face and made me forget my guilt for an instant. "Why didn't you say so before?" she asked.

"You've been through a lot, Ruth," I replied, dropping my gaze guiltily.

"But it's wonderful to know that I'm not alone, Harry," she said. "Do we live together?"

"No," I answered, and with that simple question, I began to realise how complicated this will be and that I have some serious thinking to do if I'm going to pull this off. I effectively need to construct and memorise a legend that will stand up to scrutiny by Ruth's inquisitive mind and keen intellect. So I began to excuse myself once more, saying that I'll be back tomorrow and will be happy to answer more of her questions, but that we both need to rest now. Then I lent down to kiss her cheek again in goodnight, but she turned her face at the last moment and pressed her lips softly against mine.

I whistled all the way home.


	8. Chapter 8

**[23 May 2010]**

I broke into Ruth's house today. It's a Sunday so I didn't have to go into work, and for once in probably several months, I didn't go in anyway. Instead I spent the morning constructing my legend, and in order to do that, I needed information. So I waited until her mother had left the house to pick her up from hospital. Then I broke in and, using one of Tariq's nifty gadgets that I'd borrowed without his knowledge, I identified the code of her alarm. It was 140706, the date of our one and only date, and it made me feel so much better about this deception that I'm practising on her.

I figured I had two hours at the very least until Ruth got home from the hospital, so I quickly and methodically set to work gathering information and planting evidence in places that were logical and yet wouldn't arouse her mother's suspicion. She's been staying at Ruth's place since the accident and she might notice the sudden appearance of an extra toothbrush, for instance. Thank goodness Beth had moved out some time in April.

Once I'd finished, I left the house, using one of the extra sets of house keys I'd found and taken in keeping with my legend to lock the door, and drove back home to begin building my legend.

We're engaged which means that I often stay at her house overnight and she at mine. I keep some of my things there, an extra toothbrush, shaving kit and bottle of cologne, a few changes of clothes, something to sleep in, a CD or two and some books. I also know where all the rooms are and where everything is kept, especially in the kitchen. I know what shampoo, conditioner, shower gel and moisturising cream she uses, and what perfume she wears. We have sex, so we use contraception, condoms as I couldn't find any indication that Ruth is on the pill or has an IUD (I surreptitiously checked her medical records yesterday at the hospital when the doctor was called away urgently while I was in his office. Yet another reprehensible act on my ever growing list of sins). We've been dating for almost seven months, since my birthday last year when Ruth surprised me with an invitation to dinner to celebrate. We've been taking things slowly and didn't have sex until Christmas, but since then we've enjoyed an active sex life.

By the afternoon when I went round to visit Ruth, I had everything memorised, the only gap in my knowledge being Ruth's personal habits (what she likes to eat, when she sleeps, what she enjoys doing in her free time) and of course, how to please her in bed. I will be paying close attention to the former and I'm not worried about the latter. I'm a decent lover and I know I can learn to please her. Besides, it'll be a while until she has healed enough for that.

I arrived armed with flowers (the last of the lilacs from my garden) that I'd thought to bring at the last moment and some of Ruth's CDs that were supposedly at my place, but which I'd really only borrowed this morning. (I've borrowed quite a few things of hers that are now safely tucked away in various parts of my house. I also went out and bought new bottles of her shampoo and conditioner among other things that I deemed appropriate, making sure to tip out some of the liquid so they don't look brand new.)

Her mother answered the door, shaking my hand in greeting as I stepped into the house and holding the flowers for me while I removed and hung up my coat. It was the first time I'd met Ruth's mother, Elizabeth. Usually the duty of telling the parents about an officer's death falls to me, but after Ruth had faked her death, I hadn't had time to do it before I was on a plane to Beirut on my way to find Catherine. Adam had told me that Zaf had talked to Elizabeth as he'd spent the night before her exile keeping Ruth company and he felt he owed it to her. Apparently he'd told her the truth, or as close to the truth as he could under the circumstances. I'm not sure I would have done that. I suspect I would have lied to keep Ruth safe like I did with Zoe, so it's turned out for the best that Zaf had been the one to speak to her. I'm not sure she would have been able to forgive me otherwise. Adam told me later that Elizabeth had been very convincing at Ruth's funeral and no one would have guessed that she hadn't lost her child. I suppose, in many ways, she had.

Ruth was pleased to see me and was thrilled that I'd picked the flowers myself, which was a relief and something I must remember for future reference. She was sitting on the settee, her legs stretched out before her supported by a foot stool, looking as beautiful as ever and much better for being out of hospital. She took the flowers and sniffed them happily, beaming up at me before inviting me to sit by her as Elizabeth tactfully excused herself to locate a vase, allowing me the opportunity to properly kiss Ruth.

It was wonderful.

When Elizabeth returned with the vase and set the flowers on the table, she asked me several question about myself and my relationship with Ruth, but I was expecting it and was well prepared for the interrogation that followed. Apparently, Ruth has mentioned me a lot to her mother over the years, which was very gratifying to hear and also made my story much more believable. Neither Elizabeth nor Ruth doubted my word, which was a relief as I'd expected them to be as suspicious as I would have been under the circumstances. Then again, I forget sometimes how simple and straightforward people's lives are when they don't work for the service. And though Elizabeth had been on her guard initially, it was easy enough, for someone of my skill, to charm her and put her at ease, especially since I didn't have to fake any of my feelings for her daughter. It was obvious, however, that she was hurt that Ruth hadn't told her about our relationship and engagement. I explained that Ruth has always been very wary of office gossip and a little concerned about how people might react to the age difference between us, so she'd wanted to give our relationship a chance before telling anyone about it, and that after we'd got engaged, she'd planned to tell her mother but had wanted to do it in person, not over the phone. Luckily Ruth hasn't seen her mother since Christmas, so it wasn't too hard to believe my explanation, even if it was still rather hurtful.

Elizabeth, however, doesn't strike me as the type to hold a grudge. In fact, she's very much like her daughter in many ways. She's kind and considerate, clever, principled, loving towards Ruth, and has a gentle sense of humour. And once I'd finished answering both their questions about Ruth and me, they were both satisfied. Elizabeth _did_ ask me if I had been the man Ruth had been protecting when she'd left England for a while, and when I confirmed that I was, the last of her doubts seemed to disappear and she was ready to accept me as her future son-in-law.

I was careful not to show my relief, and then of course, I had to explain some of what had happened to Ruth. I omitted the part about the two of us being kidnapped and about the doctor and the boy. I saw no reason to upset her further. I could see that she was finding it difficult to deal with her lack of memories from her exile and the knowledge that there was no one who could fill them in for her. I can tell her about work, her mother can tell her about her childhood, and there is always the possibility that she can meet someone who can tell her about GCHQ or her student days at Oxford. But her time away will always be a big blank unless her memory returns. I find myself now hoping that it doesn't, at least, not for some time yet. I need to build a life with her before my deception is discovered if I am to have any hope of ever being forgiven.


	9. Chapter 9

**[28 May 2010]**

So far my attempts to reconcile with Graham have failed, and though I don't intend to give up so quickly, nor so easily, I fear that no progress will be made until he decides to stop laying the blame for his own actions on my shoulders and take responsibility for himself. I'm not thinking of myself here - I can take anything he throws at me, and if I thought for one moment that it would help him if I shouldered it all, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But though I have admitted to my failings as a father and apologised for them, I refuse to take the blame for every one of his bad choices in life, or for the part his mother and step-father have played. He's almost twenty seven years old for Christ's sake! No longer a child, but a man and he needs to start acting like one. I can't tell him this, of course, but thankfully his sister does, if the conversation between them I overheard the other day is anything to go by. I hope he listens to her for his sake. He needs to start acting from the best part of himself and build some self-respect if he's to get anywhere in this life, something, I admit, is often easier said than done.

As to Ruth, she's slowly on the mend and I enjoy every moment I spend with her. Her mother has to go back to Exeter on Sunday, so I offered to take some leave from work to help her out, starting Monday, and much to my great delight, she jumped at the chance to spend more time with me. Tonight, she even asked me if I'd stay with her at her place for the entire time, so I will be sleeping at Ruth's from the day after tomorrow.

I've wanted this for so long, the opportunity to spend time with Ruth away from work, talking, laughing, doing things together, holding each other close, sharing our lives. I find myself wondering if I am tempting fate by being so happy. It's surely too good to last. I _should_ tell her the truth and yet I fear that she'll never forgive me, especially since she has no memories of me, of us from before. All she has is one week, and if I tell her the truth now, she'll never understand and will never trust me again. I need time to show her how much I love her and that we were always meant to be together. And yet time might be the one thing I do not have. Her memory could come back any day now, and though, when it does, she might understand why I lied to her, she'll quite possibly never forgive me. So I need to time this just right – tell her too soon and she walks away, dismissing me as a perverted stalker type and calling the police, or leave it too late and she sees it as a betrayal of the worst kind. So much depends on timing that I cannot help but worry when I consider that it's never been one of my fortes. I can only hope that, for once in my life, I will get it right.


	10. Chapter 10

**[2 June 2010]**

Ruth's asleep. She's been going to bed at nine every night since I got here on Sunday. Her body's still recovering and her physiotherapy sessions tire her out, I think. On my first few nights here, I fell asleep early too, no doubt, catching up on some much needed rest, but tonight I find it's a little early for me.

Life with Ruth is as wonderful as I've always thought it would be. We fit together so well, have so many interests in common, despite her amnesia, that it hasn't been hard at all to find things to talk about or do together. It's odd how many things she remembers, poems, plays, books she's read, music. She can still read fluently in many more languages than I and can play the piano beautifully even with one hand. And yet she doesn't remember who she is, though she knows she doesn't like pickles and oranges, but loves olives and peaches. The specialist she saw last week told her that it's her brain's way of protecting her from the trauma, both of the recent accident, but in Ruth's case, I suspect, it's also the pain of losing her father and all she's suffered since. The doctor seems to think that her memory will return when she's strong enough to deal with everything that's happened, and I can't help hoping that it's not any time soon.

In the mean time, I am enjoying her as much as possible, spending practically every minute of my day with her. We kiss a lot and cuddle on the sofa and it's wonderful. And though I worry sometimes about what the future holds for us if she discovers what I've done, most of the time I endeavour to just savour the freedom I have to love Ruth and to enjoy every moment I spend in her company. I am enjoying looking after her very much and I sometimes still find it hard to believe that she's willingly relying on me and letting me help her. The first night was a little awkward for both of us, but it's surprising how quickly she's come to trust me and how comfortable we are around each other now.

On my first night here, there was nothing worth watching on the telly so I suggested that I read to her. I chose a dog-eared book from the shelf by her bed, thinking that it's probably one of her favourites. It was Persuasion by Jane Austen, and though I've never really liked Austen, I'd never read this particular novel of hers, so it seemed like a good choice. When I came back downstairs, Ruth was lying on the sofa, so I gently lifted up her feet and sat beside her, placing them on my lap and rubbing them with my free hand as I began to read.

We didn't get very far before I noticed she was almost asleep, so I suggested that she go to bed. She tensed then and I could see something was troubling her, so I asked her what it was. In the past, I would never have done that, not unless it was about work, but she's different now, more open and direct. Except in this instance. It took some time and patience on my part to figure out that what was bothering her was the thought of me changing the dressings covering her surgical incisions and the idea that I would see them and think her unattractive.

"Ruth," I replied a little abruptly perhaps when I finally realised how simple the problem appeared to be, "you're alive. You're here with me. That's all I care about. Nothing else matters." She didn't look convinced by my rather exasperated outburst, nor did my reassurances that I love her and will always think she's beautiful entirely remove her doubts, but then I suddenly had an idea. I got up and removed my shirt and vest before turning towards her and kneeling beside her on the floor. Then I proceeded to show her and tell her about every one of the scars I carry on my body, though only the ones on my chest, back and arms were visible to her. When I'd finished, her eyes were filled with tears, but she quickly brushed them away and smiled. Then, with my heart in my mouth, I asked one of the most loaded questions of my life. "Do you still find me attractive, Ruth?"

"Yes," she whispered and reached her hand towards me, sensually trailing her fingertips over my skin. "I think you're very attractive."

"Good," I replied and stood up, desperate to get away from her touch lest my body betray just how much I was enjoying it. It's too soon for that. "Now let's go upstairs."

That first night, I helped her in any way she asked. I changed her dressings, helped her undress and take a sponge bath. I dried her and helped her put on her pyjamas, and once she was in bed, I gave her her painkillers and read some more of Persuasion to her. I wasn't planning to sleep in her bed that night. My body was quite aroused by all that I'd seen and helped her do that night, and I didn't think I'd be able to sleep beside her. But I was exhausted and I fell asleep next to her, fully clothed on top of the covers, and when I woke up the next morning with her still wrapped safely in my arms, I felt on top of the world.

Tonight, in addition to everything else, I helped her wash her hair and it was easily one of the most enjoyable things I've ever had to do. After I'd finished, I dried it for her and brushed it, and all the while I could see her smiling softly in the mirror as she sat at her dressing table and watched me. When I asked her why she was smiling, she replied, "Because you're happy. I like to see you happy. I get the feeling that it doesn't happen often." And it's true. I've never been happy before. Not like this.


	11. Chapter 11

**_The following strays into M-rated territory, but I'm keeping the T rating for now. I'm hoping that the style of writing here is still believable as Harry's diary. I realise that he's opening up much more than one would expect, but I'm hoping the progression from work diary to personal one has been gradual enough to be believable. Hope you enjoy and please review. Cheers, S.C._**

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**[5 June 2010]**

Last night, we had sex for the first time and it was as wonderful as I'd always thought it would be. I've been sleeping in the spare room for the last few nights as Ruth is still going to bed early and I'm just not sleepy. But last night, after I'd closed the book I'd been reading and held her in my embrace, Ruth asked me why I wouldn't share her bed and it was clear to me that she was worried that something was wrong. I explained that I didn't want to wake her when I came to bed, but she said she was sure that I wouldn't, and in any case, she didn't care if I did. So I had to explain that I couldn't sleep beside her because being in bed with her was too arousing for me.

She was silent for several moments and then I felt her hand slide down and cup me as if to confirm my words. "We could do something about that, you know," she whispered. I thought about telling her that I was fine, but in all honesty, I really wanted her to do something about it. Desperately. Even a quick rub in the shower hadn't been helping much.

So instead I asked, "What would you suggest?" In answer, she slipped her right hand under the waistband of my trousers and trunks and ran her fingers over my length, murmuring her appreciation of my size before her hand closed round me and I was lost. It's been decades since the last time I was a selfish lover, and I have never been more tempted to be one again as I was in that moment. Somehow I found the strength to object, but she silenced me with a kiss before saying softly, "Please, Harry, let me do this for you. You've been so wonderful, have taken care of me so selflessly. Let me take care of you now." Her face was so earnest and full of love that I gave in right away, realising that she really wanted and needed to do this for me. She wanted to see me, so I pulled my clothes off and watched her as she pleasured me with her hand and I'm ashamed to say I didn't last very long.

Afterwards she tenderly cleaned me up with a tissue and I have never felt so loved before in my adult life as I did in that moment. I kissed her, pulling her close and slipping my hand under her pyjama top to caress her breasts. I kissed and stroked her all over, taking care to keep my weight off her still fragile body. Her tummy and navel are particularly sensitive, I discovered, as are her feet and toes. She tastes delicious and she is so exquisitely beautiful, especially when she comes. I don't think I will ever tire of loving her and giving her pleasure, nor will I ever get enough of her.


	12. Chapter 12

**[7 June 2010]**

It's been a week that I've been living with Ruth but somehow it feels like years, as if time has stood still and we're stuck in a kind of time bubble together. Ruth's different in many ways and yet the same, and I'm ashamed to say that I'm finding it easier now to forget about all that I've done to get here and the convoluted moral ambiguity of my actions. I know I should come clean and yet I also know that Ruth is happy, _we _are happy here, together, like this.

Is that wishful thinking on my part? Perhaps, but I think not. There is a joy in her eyes and in her face, and an openness between us that has never existed before. She told me that after a difficult first week or so, when her amnesia and other injuries were causing her much anxiety and frustration, she'd decided that she's going to just focus on how grateful she is that she survived such a horrific accident and endeavour to live in the moment. And I must admit, she'd doing rather well with that and is pulling me into this new philosophy of hers too to the point where I no longer think about work and I haven't even turned on the news for three days now. She's given up asking me questions about her life before the accident unless it's something personal, about her preferences or mine, about how we met or our first date, questions about my childhood, my family growing up, my marriage to Jane, and my children. And I find myself opening up to her like never before.

And yet, despite all this, there are times when I know that I'm in the wrong and I can hear Ruth asking me, her blue eyes flashing, earnest, insistent, "That's all very high-minded, but in practice what does it mean? Does it mean that results aren't everything? Where do you draw the line on this stuff, Harry?" And I know that _that _Ruth, my Ruth, would never condone what I've done, would never accept it, would never excuse it, would never forgive it or _me_. But I'm in so deep now that I cannot see a way out. Whatever I do it seems, I'll lose her in the end, so I hold on for a little longer to the here and now, where we are happy and close, and push aside my worries about tomorrow. And the Ruth that's here with me is happy to help me do that as with a gesture, a word, a laugh, or a caress she draws me back into the present, back into the moment with her.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Sorry for the delay in this update. RL and too many thunderstorms and resulting loss of power have been getting in the way. Thanks for reading and for all your encouraging reviews. Hope you enjoy. S.C.**_

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**[9 June 2010]**

Ruth's remembered something. I should be pleased, but instead I'm terrified. She dreamt of the EERIE exercise we had in 2003 when I had to pretend I was dying. She woke up in the middle of the night and proceeded to tell me about her dream and how scared she'd been that I was going to die. I've never realised before how much of an impact it had had on her. I remember going for drinks afterwards at the George and how often she'd smiled at me, relieved that I was all right. She'd drunk a little too much wine, and just before she'd left the pub, she'd come up to me and told me that, if I ever scared her like that again, she'd kill me herself. I'd laughed it off at the time, but since then, I've often wondered if that wasn't the time when we both first became aware of our feelings for each other.

I've spent the better part of today anxiously contemplating the return of Ruth's memory and what it will mean for us. I have half a mind to tell her all right now, but I'm afraid that it's too soon. How can I convince her that, though I have forced her into a level of intimacy that she's always avoided with me, everything else about my feelings and our interaction has been genuine and true? How can I prove that it is not an act, an elaborate deception constructed by a devious mind with ulterior motives? After all, I am perfectly capable of doing that and _have_ done so in the past for Queen and country. How can I make her see that this is not a honey-trap, but a badly conceived plan of a man who was blinded by love, the fear of losing her, and a desperate need to protect her in the only way he knows how - by keeping her closer than she has ever allowed before. I cannot see a way forward, and if all hell breaks loose, I rather selfishly want more than ten days worth of memories of our time together to cling to in the bleak months ahead.

And then there is another side to all this that I must acknowledge. Part of me is enjoying living on the edge like this – the danger, the gamble, the high stakes, the adrenaline rush. I've missed it. It's like being back in the field, but in this instance the stakes for me personally feel higher than every before; I'm gambling not with the success of an operation or even my life this time, but with my happiness and hope for the future. And so I remain undecided. I know I need to tell her the truth at some point, but the timing of it must be perfect. I just hope my luck holds for a little while longer and no more memories return just yet.

Ruth picked up on my sombre mood very quickly this morning, so I suggested that we go out somewhere and we ended up having a lovely day wondering around the Tate museum together. Now I find myself oscillating between feeling certain that my days with Ruth are numbered and believing that our love will transcend all obstacles including her returning memory and the inevitable discovery of my deception. As I write this, I can't help hoping for the latter.

Her dream last night also reminded me that I still haven't called Malcolm to tell him about Ruth. He doesn't even know that she's been injured. Perhaps it's for the best though, if he ever finds out I hid this from him, he'll probably never forgive me. It's something I fear I shall have to risk, however, as he's the only one who knows the truth - that Ruth turned down my proposal.

**[10 June 2010]**

No more memories have returned and I'm finally able to set my worries aside for a little while longer. My days with Ruth are not over yet, and with each passing moment, our relationship is getting stronger. I'm convinced now that, if she chooses to end it, it will be just as hard for her to leave me as it will be for me to let her go.

Ruth is getting physically stronger every day, so this morning we took a trip to Kew Gardens. The weather was lovely and we had a truly relaxing and wonderful time together. We spent much of the afternoon sitting side by side on a secluded bench, holding each other close as we listened to the birds sing or quietly discussed all manner of things. It was truly one of the most enjoyable days I've had in my life and one whose memory I will cherish for many years to come. In my mind, we now have two benches that are our own.


	14. Chapter 14

**[11 June 2010]**

Today, Ruth expressed an interest in seeing my house, so we decided to spend the next few days and nights there until I go back to work. We gathered all the things Ruth and her cats might need for the next few days and headed over there, stopping on the way to pick up Indian take-out for lunch. When I showed her around, she said she liked the place, "Though it _does _need a feminine touch, Harry," she added with a mischievous smile as she stood in the doorway to my bedroom.

"Feel free to touch any part of it you want," I'd replied, making her laugh. Then she'd moved over to the bed and sat down, setting her crutches aside and patting the spot next to her in invitation, and as I took a seat beside her, I couldn't help thinking of all the times in the last five years when I'd wished her here. I almost told her that before I remembered that she's meant to have been here many times before. So I kissed her instead and that simple action unleashed a passion inside me that I found impossible to contain, and within minutes, we were both naked and making love.

Afterwards, I held her close, basking in the afterglow and marvelling at the fact that I had finally made love to Ruth in my bed, a bed that I have been saving for this very purpose despite the fact that over the years it has seemed progressively less and less likely that I will ever experience this pleasure. I was just dwelling on how amazing it had felt when she'd taken me in her mouth and contemplating how much better it will be when she's well enough for intercourse, when she murmured quietly, "Harry, did you know that the hormones released during sex help boost the immune system, reduce stress and pain, and increase your life expectancy?" I couldn't help smiling at that, such a Ruth thing to say, as I replied that I didn't. She'd turned to face me then and added with a grin, "Which leads me to the conclusion that the best possible treatment for my injuries is lots of sex. Let's spend the rest of the day in bed, Harry." So we did, sleeping a little, eating our take out from trays that I brought upstairs, and making love two more times before evening when I ventured downstairs to prepare dinner while Ruth kept me company in the kitchen. We ate and moved into the living room and that's when the doorbell rang.

It was Malcolm.

He'd tried to ring me earlier, but I hadn't answered the call, not really knowing what to tell him. I hadn't wanted to lie to him, but telling him the truth had seemed impossible.

"Hello, Harry," he said. "May I come in?"

I hesitated and then shook my head, saying, "Best not. Let's go to the pub. Give me a moment." Then I shut the door in his face.

To be honest, I was a little surprised he was still outside the house when I joined him a few minutes later, having explained to Ruth that I was going to the pub with an old friend and wouldn't be gone long before quickly going upstairs to dress, slipping on my shoes and grabbing my coat. He's a good friend though Malcolm, steadfast and willing to put up with and forgive a lot, and to be fair, I'd do the same for him. We've known each other too long to begin to doubt each other now.

We walked in silence to the pub down the road, and when we got there, Malcolm found us a secluded table while I bought us both drinks. Once we'd sat down, however, I didn't know where to start and an awkward silence descended between us. Eventually, Malcolm broke it by saying, "I called the Grid. Lucas told me that you'd taken time off. When you didn't answer your phone, I was worried."

I sighed and began to speak, beginning with an apology for shutting the door in his face and succinctly explaining the events of the last few weeks, leaving out any mention of the lie I'd told Ruth. I just told him that I'd taken time off to help her settle in and that she was now at my place. I should have known I couldn't fool him, not Malcolm.

"And she's okay with that?" he asked, looking at me shrewdly.

"Yes," I replied, dropping my gaze to my beer and wishing I'd ordered a whisky instead. "She has amnesia."

"How bad?" he asked next.

"Bad," I answered. "She doesn't even remember her name." I looked up at him then, and seeing something akin to horror on his face, I immediately knew what conclusion he'd jumped to. "No, it's not like that, Malcolm," I immediately explained. "I'd never do that to her. You know that. I love her too much. I was going to walk away from her,from us." I paused and took a deep breath before filling him in on all the rest, and when I'd finished speaking, I turned to look at him again.

He was silent for quite a while before he murmured, "I understand your motives, Harry, but I have to say that I think what you're doing is wrong. She said no; whatever the reason and however much it doesn't make sense to you or me, she said no. You're taking advantage of her current state of weakness in a way that doesn't do you any credit, Harry. You need to tell her the truth. Besides, you can't build a relationship, a marriage on a lie."

"But it isn't a lie, Malcolm," I replied and my voice sounded desperate even to my ears. "Our feelings, our love is not a lie and that is what our relationship is built on."

"But don't you see, Harry," he said earnestly, "if you tell her the truth now, before her memory returns, you have a real chance of making it work. If she's with you for all the right reasons, she'll have no trouble understanding why you did what you did because she has no memory of the way she used to think, the reasons why she refused you. If you wait for her to figure it out on her own, she'll find it infinitely harder to forgive you because she'll see it as a lack of respect for her wishes, a breach of trust and an act of the worst kind of manipulation."

And I can't help acknowledging that he's right - I must tell her the truth before it's too late.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Sorry once again for the delay in updating this. RL is far too busy at the moment. Just three or four chapters left, I think. Enjoy and, if you have a moment, please review. Cheers, S.C.**_

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**[12 June 2010]**

I took Ruth out to dinner tonight to a small, quiet restaurant I know where they serve good food and I thought she'd feel comfortable. The scrapes and bruises on her face and surgical incisions have healed almost completely now, and have left very little scaring, something that I know Ruth is very grateful for though, to my mind, they are irrelevant; she will always look beautiful to me.

We had a lovely evening, and when we got home, I felt that this was the right time to tell her everything. My courage was at its highest and I was ready to take the plunge and risk losing it all, but as we sat side by side on the sofa, wrapped in each other's arms and I sought the right words to explain, she turned to me and kissed me, a deep, passionate kiss that chased all thoughts out of my head. When she pulled back, she whispered, "Thank you, Harry. For this evening, for caring for me, for loving me, for everything." Then she smiled widely and added, "Let's get married, Harry. Tomorrow."

My heart leapt at those words, said so gently and with so much love, and I realised that this was the answer to everything. Ruth suggesting we marry is proof that I did the right thing, that the end justifies the means in the end, in this instance. And I wanted to just say yes so _very_ much, to forget about everything else and agree to join our lives in every way possible, but Malcolm's words were still ringing in my ears and I knew it would be a mistake; I had to come clean first. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Ruth," I said with a heavy heart.

"Why not, Harry?" she asked, her blue eyes puzzled. "I thought you wanted to marry me."

"I do, Ruth," I reassured her, "more than anything, but I fear it would be unwise to do it now."

"Because of my amnesia, you mean," she sighed.

"Yes," I replied, knowing that it was now or never. "There are things you don't know about me and things you don't remember, things I've done, deceitful, amoral things. Things that have hurt the people I love, have hurt you."

But she interrupted me, saying, "Harry, you're a spy. I may not have my memory back yet, but I _do_ know what you do for a living and I understand what kinds of things you must have been called on to do at times over the years. But I also know that you're a good man and I know that I love you. I may not know all the details of your life, or mine for that matter, but I know what I feel for you and I know that leaving you standing on that dock as the tugboat bore me further and further away from you was possibly the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

I was flummoxed by this and I felt the panic threaten to overwhelm me as I struggled to hide it from Ruth and asked her when she'd remembered that, hoping it's all she'd remembered.

"It was there when I woke up this morning," she smiled. "I didn't tell you because I needed time to think." She paused then before asking, "What were you going to tell me that day when I stopped you?"

"That I love you," I murmured as I cupped her face with my hands. "That I'll always love you; no matter what happens, Ruth, I'll always love you." And I think I must have sounded a little desperate, but I sealed my promise with a kiss, and much to my relief, when we broke apart Ruth sighed happily.

"See?" she smiled. "It _was_ something wonderful and that's exactly what I was trying to say. I love you too, Harry, and that isn't going to go away because of something you've done in the past. I would have gone mad these last few weeks without you."

I prayed then that what she'd just said would hold true despite what I was about to reveal, but as I opened my mouth to tell her, she pressed her fingers over my lips and said, "Stop arguing, Harry, and take me to bed. I've had a lovely day and I don't want to spoil it by fighting. I want us to make love instead."

And I'm ashamed to say I gave in to her at once as, like a Siren, she whispered my name and pressed her lips against mine, slipping her hand down to my crotch, her touch making me hard in moments. There would be time for confessions later, I thought vaguely as we went up to bed and I kissed her all over, delighting in making love to my fiancée like never before because, _this_ time, it wasn't a lie, _she'd_ suggested we marry; we're really engaged.

And after I'd pushed her over her first peak, she'd turned on her side and pulled me close, lifting her left leg over my hip and drawing me closer, and it took me a moment to figure out what she was about to do.

I uttered her name uncertainly and she looked up at my face, stroking my cheek gently and murmuring with a smile, "It's time, Harry. I want to feel you inside me and I know you want this too. It's been too long. The doctor said it's fine so long as I'm careful and we try positions that don't put any stress on my leg. I also had him fit me with an IUD."

I whispered her name again though my voice this time was filled with longing as I kissed her, and when I pushed gently into her, tears sprung to my eyes and rolled down my cheeks at the sheer perfection and momentousness of the moment. And it _was_ perfect, better than any of my dreams or daydreams of this moment had ever been.

I watch her lying beside me now, sleeping peacefully as I write this, and she takes my breath away. I cannot believe that we have truly reached this point in our relationship after everything that's happened to us since we first met, and I can't help but hope that this togetherness, this joy, this bliss, this love and passion will last despite what I've had to do to get us here. And I can't help but wonder if we'd ever have got this far had I not lied.

Would Ruth have ever given us a chance?

I find that I really don't know the answer to that. I'd like to think that she would have, but perhaps that's just wishful thinking on my part. The Ruth who came back, who lost her family because of me, _that_ Ruth was racked with guilt and, I think, she might never have been able to get past it, to forgive herself and me, to stop punishing us for the tragic circumstances of George's death and Nico's loss, the events that _we'd_ been a victim of too. _That_ Ruth didn't want to let herself be happy, and perhaps, didn't want me to be happy either.

But enough maudlin thoughts. I see her begin to stir now. Time to stop writing and start making love to her again. I know I will never tire of doing that.


	16. Chapter 16

**[15 June 2010]**

It's happened just as Malcolm warned me it would. Ruth has regained her memory and is absolutely livid. I went round to see her tonight after work for the first time since I returned to work on Monday, and as she opened the door, I could tell from her face that something was very wrong.

"How could you do that to me, Harry?" she demanded, her blue eyes on fire. "How could you lie and manipulate me like that?"

I was speechless for a moment in shock before I found my voice. "I can explain," I pleaded. "Please, Ruth, let me explain."

"Explain?!" she spat at me. "You asked me and I said no! What is there to explain? You created a fairytale, a fantasy, hiding all the bits that didn't fit and manipulating me into sharing it with you, and it turns out, it was all a lie. George and Nico - you never so much as mentioned them. And you know what, I'm not surprised. He was _ten_ times the man you'll ever be, Harry. He would _never _have done this to me. He was all that was good in this world, and because of _you _and bloody MI-5,he's dead. So no! I'll not listen to you and your attempts to justify the unspeakable, unforgivable things you did. Fuck you, Harry. I never want to see you again." And with that she slammed the door in my face.

She couldn't have hurt me more if she'd stabbed me straight through the heart with a knife. In fact, perhaps that would have been preferable; the pain would not have lasted long. But _this - _this _agony - _it's unbearable.

George – smart, kind, honest, dark, handsome, a good father, a good husband, and a doctor - the perfect anti-Harry. No wonder she chose him.

A lie. All of it a lie.

How could I have _been_ so stupid?

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**[18 June 2010]**

It's been three days and I still haven't heard from Ruth. I've tried to contact her, but she won't answer the phone or the door. Yesterday, I resorted to asking Beth to call on her, just to make sure she's all right, I was so worried.

She's fine apparently. She just doesn't want to speak to me. And I can't really blame her. What I did _is_ unforgivable and the knowledge that I've brought this on myself makes it all so much harder to bear. If only I hadn't been so weak.

But at least now I know it wasn't a lie. Our feelings were real; I'm sure of it. And though perhaps Ruth wishes that this wasn't the case, that she didn't love me, I know better. She _does_ love me though I can't blame her for trying to hurt me. All I ever seem to do is cause her pain though it's never my intention. Except these past few weeks. She was happy then. _I_ made her happy.

And now it's over.

My house is empty, my life is empty and all that I have now is work.

Again.

Work and whisky.

Time for another drink. How many is it now? I've lost count.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Thank you all for your reviews. Unfortunately, Harry stopped writing in his journal shortly after Ruth left as you will see below, attempting to drown his sorrows in the bottom of his whisky glass instead for a while. I hope you enjoy this penultimate chapter anyway. S.C.**_

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Sunday, 4th July 2010

London

My dearest Ruth,

I have tried emailing you, I have tried ringing you, I have tried to see you, all to no avail. This is my last hope to reach you before I go. I wanted to explain but I can see now that you're not ready to listen, perhaps you never will be; you always were a stubborn mule, but I shall respect your wishes; I owe you that much at least. I'm leaving London tomorrow for a while. I find I need some time to work out what I will do next, now that you no longer want me.

With this letter, I enclose a copy of something that no other living soul has ever seen - my diary. I know that you will understand how important it is that it doesn't find its way into the wrong hands and that you will safeguard it well. I hope that, when you are ready, it will answer some of your questions about me, my life in the service, who I am and why I did what I did to you, Ruth. I need you to know that there is nothing I regret more than lying to you and all the pain that I have ever caused you. I was so very wrong. It was never my intention to hurt you. I hope that, one day, you will understand that. For your own protection, I ask that you please destroy this copy when you have finished reading it.

Know that I love you always whether you are near or far, whether I see you everyday or never again, whether you love me or not.

Goodbye, my Ruth. Take care of yourself. I wish you every possible happiness. I am -

Yours always,

Harry x


	18. Chapter 18

_**Switching to the third person in this chapter as I got fed up waiting for Harry to begin writing in his journal again. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. A big thank you to all my readers and especially to those who have reviewed. One final review would be very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.**_

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**29****th**** July 2010, **

**Cooper's Bar, Glasgow**

"Another please," he says, lifting his hand to get the barman's attention and putting the money on the counter. He picks up his whisky and drains the glass, returning it to the surface with a dull thud. Another night, another city, another bar, another drink, and yet, in the end, they're all the same. They all look the same, sound the same, smell the same, taste the same, feel the same – dark and empty like his heart, his mind, his soul. He'd thought it would help him to get away, but it hasn't really achieved anything except to highlight how lost he is without her. He wonders if she's read his letter, if she'd refused to take it when Malcolm had handed it to her, or if she'd destroyed it in a fire as he's sure Malcolm had instructed her to do if she didn't want to read it.

The barman places his drink on the counter and he lifts it to his lips, taking a large gulp. Perhaps he should return to London and find out. Perhaps it's time now, time to find out once and for all, time to face the music. He can't keep wondering around Britain forever, and not just because he has a job he has to return to in ten days. Sooner or later, he's going to have to face up to what he's done and live with the consequences of his actions.

"But not yet," he murmurs out loud, taking another swig of his drink. He knows he's being a coward, that he's delaying the inevitable, but he can't help it. Here he has hope that she might change her mind, that she might give him another chance, and as long as he doesn't know for sure, he can cling to that hope. But if he goes back... well, then he'll have no choice but to accept the truth - that he's screwed it up for the last time and that he's now alone in this world forever more.

She's probably back at work already, sitting at her desk, her lamp on, pouring over her work, glancing up at his office only to find someone else sitting there behind his desk. Does she miss him, he wonders. Probably not, not enough at any rate. Not enough to forgive him, not enough to want him back, not enough to look for him, not enough to find him. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe she's better off without him. Isn't that what he'd decided when she was in hospital? He should have listened to himself; he should have walked away. Then at least he'd still have his life, his home, his job, all untouched by her, places devoid of the joy she had infused into them, but also untouched by the agony that her absence has left behind. He's going to have to resign. If she doesn't want him any more, he's going to have to resign. They can't work together again; he's not strong enough for that. It would be torture.

The music changes, catching his attention.

If I had to live my life without you near me,  
The days would all be empty  
The nights would seem so long.  
With you I see forever oh so clearly,  
I might have been in love before,  
But it never felt this strong.  
Our dreams are young and we both know  
They'll take us where we want to go.  
Hold me now,  
Touch me now,  
I don't want to live without you.

It's their song, the one she'd chosen for them one night as they'd sat side by side wrapped in each other's arms talking, the radio playing softly in the background. "I like this song," she'd said, pausing to listen. Then she'd smiled and murmured, "What do you think, Harry? It could be our song. We need a song, don't you think? We could dance to it at our wedding." He feels tears spring to his eyes at the memory so he blinks to clear them, but soon he has to lift his hand and wipe them away with his fingers and thumb.

"May I have this dance?" he hears her whisper near his right ear, and for a moment, he thinks he's imagined it until he feels her hand gently squeeze his right bicep.

He lifts his head then and turns towards her, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. "Ruth?" he says in a hoarse voice.

"Hello, Harry," she smiles. "You're a hard man to track down. D'you know that?"

He blinks at her again and wipes the tears that roll down his cheek with the back of his hand. "You've been looking for me?"

"Mmm," she hums, still smiling. "For seventeen days and nights actually. I've almost used up all my holiday. Next time you give me a whole book of classified information to read, at least give me more than a few hours to get through it before you disappear off the face of the earth, all right?"

"You... you've read it?" he stammers, his tears finally slowing and allowing him to see her clearly for the first time. She looks even more beautiful than he remembers, and he notices with pleasure that her arm is no longer in a cast and she's walking without the aid of a stick. She's healing well then and looks as if she's been taking care of herself, unlike him.

"Yes," she nods. "Wasn't that the idea?"

"And you... came to look for me?" he asks. "Why?"

"I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," she smiles, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. Then she begins to softly sing along to the last verse of the song, their song, that's still playing.

"Nothing's gonna change my love for you,  
You ought to know by now how much I love you.  
One thing you can be sure of  
I'll never ask for more than your love.  
Nothing's gonna change my love for you,  
You ought to know by now how much I love you.  
The world may change my whole life through  
But nothing's gonna change my love for you."

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispers as he stands and turns towards her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. She sighs and he feels her arms wrap around him, clinging to him tightly. He holds her close as he fights the tears that want to escape him once more, feeling overwhelmed by his love for her, his gratitude that she's giving him another chance and silently vowing to endeavour to deserve it every day for the rest of his life. He never wants to let her go, but eventually, he pulls back, needing to see her and apologise. "I'm so sorry, Ruth. I didn't-"

"Hush," she murmurs, pressing her finger across his lips gently. "I forgive you. I'm sorry too. I should have let you explain; I should have listened. I was such a..."

"Stubborn mule," he suggests with a small smile.

"Yes," she sighs, rubbing her thumb lovingly across his cheek as her eyes roam over his face for several moments before she adds, "Growing a beard, are we?"

He shrugs. "Do you like it?" he asks.

"I don't know. Kiss me and I'll tell you," she replies with an impish smile.

So he does, lowering his lips to hers ever so slowly, watching as her eyes close in anticipation of his touch, her breath speeding up, her lips parting softly, her hand slipping into his hair, now much longer and unkempt, longer than it has been since he still had a full head of blonde curls. He pauses for a second with his lips millimetres from hers, feeling her warm breath caress them softly, every part of him savouring the moment, the anticipation of tasting her again after so long without.

"Harry," she whispers softly, her luminous eyes opening once more to look at him.

"I love you, Ruth," he murmurs before closing the gap and softly pressing his lips against hers.

She pulls his head down then, pressing him firmly against her and deepening their kiss, moulding her body to his, her tongue and lips exploring him thoroughly until he forgets everything but her. When they pull apart, they're both breathless and he wants her so much it's almost painful. "Are you staying near by, Harry?" she murmurs throatily.

"I don't know where I'm staying," he confesses. "I usually just find some place at the last minute where I can crash for a few hours sleep. I haven't been sleeping very well."

"Oh Harry," she sighs, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. "You've lost weight too. You told me to take care of myself, but you haven't been doing a very good job of taking care of _yourself_." He doesn't know what to say to that, so he remains silent, hardly daring to believe that this is really happening. "Come on," she smiles, taking a step back and clasping his hand in hers. "Come with me."

He nods and lets her lead him out of the bar and into the night. "Where's your car?" she asks.

"Two blocks down that way," he replies, nodding to their right.

"I'm this way," she says, indicating the street straight ahead. "I think I should drive," she adds after a moment. "Let's get your things and we'll drive to my B&B in my car, all right?" He agrees quickly still amazed that this is happening as they make their way down the quiet street hand in hand. He doesn't want to take his eyes off her, but his spook training doesn't let him relax, making sure he's as vigilant as possible even when he's drunk. It's served him well over the last few weeks when he's been wondering the streets of various cities late at night and he's managed to avoid trouble. Once they're in the car, however, he can't stop watching her as she drives confidently towards their destination, humming quietly to herself while he wonders if there's a catch somewhere. Can she really have changed her mind about them and be ready to give him another chance so quickly, just like that? He wants to know what made her change her mind, but he's terrified to ask in case he breaks the spell and she suddenly realises that she doesn't want to be here with him after all. She glances at him from time to time, but she doesn't say anything, just smiles and turns back to the road again, and it gives him hope and courage to trust her, this, them together again.

It doesn't take them long to arrive at a small B&B on the outskirts of the city. The gravel crunches under the tires as Ruth pulls into the driveway and parks the car, and when she turns off the headlights and engine, they're suddenly plunged into darkness and everything is absolutely still. He thinks about asking her now, but as he opens his mouth to speak, she whispers, "We're here," and pulls open the car door and gets out, closing it behind her and moving round to open the boot. He follows her out of the car, scanning the darkness around them quickly, his eyes already adjusting to the dim light, before he steps round the car and takes his bag from her hand, murmuring, "Let me." The air is crisper and colder than it was in the city centre and he sees Ruth shiver sightly as they make their way to the front door which is illuminated by the warm glow of a single light. He watches as Ruth pulls out a key from her pocket and fits it in the lock, turning it slowly and pushing the door open.

"They gave you a key for the front door?" he asks in surprise.

"Yes," she whispers. "The owners are relatives of a friend of mine from GCHQ, and as I didn't know what time I'd be home tonight, they let me have a key."

He nods, smiling in admiration at her resourcefulness as he watches her carefully lock the door and follows her upstairs. It's an old house, and in the semi-darkness, it seems to be full of countless narrow passages and staircases, but when they get to Ruth's room, he's pleasantly surprised to find that it's quite spacious with a large queen bed in the middle and an en suite bathroom. "Nice," he murmurs as he puts his bag down and turns to look at her. She smiles and begins to pull off her jacket, hanging it up on the hook behind the door. He does the same as she removes her shoes and he watches as she pushes them under the bed, letting his eyes roam over her figure that is now clad only in her blouse and a long skirt.

"Aren't you going to take your shoes off?" she asks with a smile when she notices his eyes on her.

He nods and turns around, sitting on the chair in the corner of the room to remove his shoes and socks, tucking them underneath it before lifting his gaze to her once more and finding her watching him. "Ruth," he murmurs, plucking up his courage, "what am I doing here?" He watches as her expression changes into a serious frown and hastens to add, "Sorry, that didn't come out right. It's just that you were so very angry with me before, quite rightly too, and now you're so... gentle and loving, just like you were..." he tails off, unable to speak past the lump that's risen in his throat as tears cloud his vision once more.

"It's been over a month, Harry," she says softly, sitting down on the bed, five feet or so from him. "I've had a chance to calm down and to realise that, in spite of what you did, I've never been happier than when I was with you."

"Not even with George?" he asks, remembering her hurtful outburst and needing to know the truth.

"No, not even with George," she sighs. "I'm sorry, Harry. I was trying to hurt you, like you'd hurt me." Her eyes soften and she smiles impishly. "Not my finest hour, I admit. Forgive me?"

"Always," he whispers and means it. "Besides, I deserved it. That and so much more."

"Perhaps," she smiles and holds his gaze for long moments before she says, "George was a good man and I was content with him, but he never came close to you, to how _much_ I feel for you, Harry."

"But he was an honest man, Ruth," he murmurs sadly, "and I am not. Deceit is second nature to me. What I did... it would never have occurred to most people, and yet to me, it never occurred to just ask you out." He drops his gaze to his hands and sighs deeply. It's hard for him to be this honest, but he knows he owes it to her, and to himself, and he's made up his mind to no longer be a coward, as he sees it, where she is concerned.

"Are you telling me that you would do it all again, Harry? That I cannot trust you?" she asks with a frown.

"God, I hope not," he says with feeling, "but I cannot ignore who I've been for most of my life, Ruth. That would be dishonest - the very opposite of what I want and need to be with you. I don't _want_ it to ever happen again and I can promise you... I _do _promise you that, if you give me another chance, I will love you with all my heart, do my best to make you happy, and endeavour to deserve you until the day I die, Ruth, but... you know more of my history, what I've done over the years, than any other person. Can you forgive all that? Can you ever trust me again, Ruth?"

"Yes, Harry," she nods, "otherwise I wouldn't be here... Malcolm, in his infinite wisdom, told me a lovely quote by Marianne Williamson when I talk to him before I left. She said, 'Until we've seen someone's darkness, we don't really know who they are, and until we've forgiven someone's darkness, we don't really know what love is.' You trusted me enough to show me your darkness, Harry, by giving me your diary and _that_, more than anything else, made me realise how much you regretted your actions and made it possible for me to forgive you." She pauses and looks down at her hands before adding softly, "And you were right in thinking that, after George died, I didn't believe that either of us deserved to be happy. In fact, I think I've believed that about myself for many, many years, and that's why I broke it off before, after our date. So in a way, what you did _has_ helped us move forward and you _did_ show me how wonderful we could be together. And I've missed that so much these last few weeks. All I want now is for us to try to get back to the way things were during those two wonderful weeks when we were happy... I want that so much, Harry."

"Me too, Ruth," he murmurs, his heart feeling lighter than it has in ages. "I'd like that more than anything."

She smiles at him across the small distance that separates them and then gets up, murmuring, "It's late, Harry. Let's go to bed. We can talk more in the morning."

He nods, glancing at the bed behind her and feeling his desire kindle at the thought of sharing it with her, but pushing it resolutely aside as he rises and crosses over to his bag, hoping she hasn't seen the hunger in his eyes in case she misinterprets it as pure lust. His need for her isn't physical, but stems from somewhere deep in his heart, and any physical intimacy between them would be an expression of the deepest love he has ever known, but he's wary of saying or doing the wrong thing and destroying this new fragile understanding they've reached.

He picks up his bag and turns towards the bathroom, but before he can take more than a step in its general direction, she intercepts him, stepping in front of him and resting her hands against his chest as she reaches up to kiss him. He welcomes it, kissing her back softly and then more firmly as she presses herself against him, slipping her arms around his back. Then she pulls her body back from his a little and begins to lift his sweater, her lips still kissing him so perfectly that he finds himself dropping the bag and lifting his hands to her waist as he moans in pleasure. Soon her hands have pushed his sweater off and are reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Ruth," he murmurs huskily, "wait."

"Why?" she asks with a puzzled frown. "Don't you want me?"

"God, Ruth. Of course, I _want _you!" he exclaims as he struggles for control. He's not sure they should be doing this now, and yet he wants it so badly. To sink himself into her again after everything that's happened, to make love to her once more would mean so much to him; it would mean everything. And yet he wants to be cautious; he wants to make sure he makes no more mistakes where Ruth is concerned, but the ways she's touching him, the desire he sees in her eyes and the drinks he's consumed tonight are making it so hard for him to find the right words to explain.

"Harry?" she questions, smiling impishly as she grazes one of his nipples with her nail through the fabric of his shirt, making him inhale sharply and shiver in pleasure.

"I haven't had a shower since this morning, I haven't shaved in at least four days, and I stink of booze and smoke," he breaths eventually, picking on the simplest of his worries in the hope of stalling her long enough to give him a chance to collect his wits.

"No, you don't, Harry," she smiles. "That's just your clothes and I'm planning on removing them. You smell wonderful; I've always loved your Harry scent." She begins to unbutton his shirt again and he can't help but groan with want as her fingertips brush his skin, her lips and tongue sliding over his chest as each button pops open and the fabric of his shirt separates a little more. He should have worn a vest this morning, he thinks fleetingly as he tightens his grip on her hips and pulls her against him, unable to resist the temptation as his arousal grows.

"Ruth," he whispers, realising that he's getting lost in a fog of love and desire more potent than any he's felt before, and it amazes him a little that Ruth, hardly the most experienced lover he's ever had, is the one woman who's able to seduce him so completely and render him putty in her hands.

"Besides," she adds as she pauses and lifts her gaze to his again, "I rather like the beard. It makes you look... roguish."

He smiles, leaning close to her ear and growling softly, "Do you like your men dangerous, Ruth?"

"Mmm," she moans, leaning into him and pressing her face against his shoulder as she slips her hands under his shirt and round to his back, pulling him against her, and he delights in her reaction, proof that she's no more immune to him than he is to her. "I like _you_, Harry," she sighs. "No one else. Just you, exactly as you are. Dangerous, compassionate, rough, gentle, hard and tender. You're _my_ man, Harry, and I love you and want you always."

He groans then as he realises that she really wants this, them, together, making love, and he knows that he's lost the battle against his better judgement; he can't resist her when she clearly wants him like this. He slips his hand into her hair, tugging on it gently until she tilts her head back and he can kiss her, a passionate kiss full of love and promise. When he pulls back, he waits for her to look at him before he asks huskily, "How much have you had to drink tonight, Ruth?"

"A lot less than you," she smiles, her eyes twinkling, but when he continues to just stare at her, she adds, "Nothing. I was too busy looking for you." She reaches her hand up to cup his cheek, saying softly, "I want this, Harry. I want you, us, here, now. It's the right time. Stop worrying." So he does as slowly they undress each other, tenderly reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies, savouring this chance they have been given all the more because it had seemed so far out of their reach just a few hours ago.

"I love you, my Ruth," he whispers in her ear as they lie naked in bed together.

"I know, Harry," she smiles. "I love you too. I was angry with you and hurt, but I never stopped loving you."

"I'm so sorry for all the pain I've caused you," he replies, his heart aching. "I'll never hurt you like that again, Ruth. I promise."

"Good," she smiles. "And I promise to always give you a chance to explain. I'm sorry I denied you that."

He kisses her softly and then more firmly as she responds, the passion reigniting between them, but despite how much he needs her after so long, he holds himself back, using his formidable self-control to worship her body and give her all the pleasure of which he's capable with his own. He brings her to the brink again and again, watching her tumble over the edge every time with great pleasure and satisfaction, knowing how close he came to never being allowed this privilege again and feeling his heart burn with love for her. And it's only when she comes back to him from her third climax and whispers softly, "Together, Harry. It's lonely without you," that he gives into his body's need for release, and as he feels her muscles begin to contract around him and hears her cry of ecstasy, he lets go, calling out her name as he comes powerfully deep inside her.

He comes round to the feel of her hands softly stroking his back and her lips caressing his left shoulder, his sated body relaxed and tingling all over. It's utter bliss and it takes him a moment to realise that he's squashing her into the mattress with his considerable weight. He begins to lift himself up then, but she objects, whispering, "Don't go. I like it."

"Ruth," he replies huskily, "I weigh more than two-hundred pounds. I must be crushing you."

"Well, perhaps a little," she concedes, "but I like to feel your weight on me... It's the first time and it's quite wonderful."

He frowns then, suddenly remembering her injuries and exclaiming as he rolls off her, "Hell's bells, Ruth! I completely forgot about your leg and arm. Have I hurt you? Why didn't you s-?"

"Harry, shut up," she sighs in exasperation, startling him in to silence. "I'm not nearly as fragile as you think. I am perfectly fine. Actually, I'm much better than fine; I feel wonderful. So please stop fussing and come back here. I liked having you close."

He smiles and shifts his body to the left so that he's lying half on the bed and half-covering her, his left leg nestled between hers, his head resting on the pillow, his right arm folded underneath it as he strokes her soft skin with the fingertips of his left hand. "Better?" he asks.

"Perfect," she smiles, resting her right hand against his cheek as she turns her head to look at him. They're silent for some time, drinking each other in, their fingers softly caressing each other's skin, their hearts light and overflowing with love. "You know, I'm so glad I found you," she whispers. "It took me so long that I was beginning to imagine the worst. I had poor Malcolm checking all the hospitals and morgues for anyone fitting your description. Don't ever do that to me again, Harry. D'you hear me? I don't think I could bear it."

"Never again," he murmurs, pressing his lips to hers. "I'll never leave your side again. I'm sorry I put you through that. I thought you didn't care any more. I was living in hell."

"So was I," she replies softly. "I thought... When I read your diary, what you wrote about us, I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. I'd thought the worst of you when I should have known better. What you did was wrong, but your motives weren't nearly as terrible as your actions suggested... Plus you were right about a lot of things. I _did_ ask you to marry me and we were so happy together." Tears fill her eyes and begin to slide down her cheeks as she continues speaking in an unsteady voice. "And when I was looking for you and I began to fear that you were... dead, all I could think of was how I'd-"

"Hush, darling, hush," he interrupts, pulling her towards him and into his embrace, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek. "It doesn't matter any more. We both made mistakes and dwelling on them won't do us any good. Neither of us are very good at communicating and opening up, but we're getting better, aren't we?"

"Yes," she nods against his shoulder, her tears slowing at his reassuring words. "We were doing rather well until my memory returned."

"And that wouldn't have been easy for you to deal with, Ruth, even if I hadn't... deceived you," he replies. "I'm sorry I put such a huge burden on you and I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you through that."

"Enough, Harry," she says, pulling back to look at him and wiping away her tears. "Enough apologises and regrets. Let's put it all behind us. Please, Harry. I've taken all my leave, which gives us three more days free to enjoy and celebrate us and our - second? third? - whatever it is chance together."

"All right," he smiles. "Sounds like a plan." And as they lie side by side, smiling into each other's eyes, and she takes his hand in hers to kiss his fingertips, he feels his heart swell with love and gratitude and he finds himself silently thanking the universe, fate and a God he still doesn't believe in for this ultimate of blessings.

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_**Note: The song referenced in this chapter is "Nothing's gonna change my love for you" by Westlife.**_


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